


Atonement Revisited

by AdamHunt



Category: Atonement (2007), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: I clearly have too much time on my hands, M/M, This is weird, love me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-18
Updated: 2011-08-18
Packaged: 2017-10-22 19:06:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/241500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdamHunt/pseuds/AdamHunt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the story of Atonement with Erik Lensherr and Charles Xavier as the leading characters. I took full liberties while writing this and changed a few key things. Also, I know that in the movie James Mcavoy plays Robbie, but it didn't seem right for Charles to be the housekeeper's son. So I warped things a little. Anyway, let me know if I should continue this. Note: This is a multi-chaptered work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Atonement Revisited

**Author's Note:**

> Yikes. Lol don't hate on me for this, leave me suggestions?

ENGLAND, 1935

At 13, she’s the youngest of the family, an intense-looking child with a willful  
temperament. Her room is meticulously tidy, with model animals arranged with military precision, all facing in the same direction, two by two, as if queuing for the Ark.  
Briony is typing out a version of her just-completed first play, a battered copy of the Oxford English Dictionary open on the desk. She is typing, with a confident flourish, the words THE END. Having done this, she leans forward to pull the page from the typewriter and add it to a small pile (the play is no more than 8 pages) of  
manuscript, the cover page of which reads “THE TRIALS OF ARABELLA” by Briony Tallis. It’s still early in the morning, but the beads of sweat Briony brushes from her forehead tell us that the day is already exceptionally hot. Holding her manuscript, Briony hurries along the landing, past a door opening on to a spare bedroom. Inside, a housemaid is singing as she makes up twin beds. Briony descends the servants’  
staircase, which leads to a black-and-white tiled hallway. She doesn’t even glance into the library, a vast, gloomy room glimpsed through its open door, but turns to move towards the back of the house. Briony glances into the empty dining room and passes through the scullery into the huge old kitchen, where Grace Turner the  
housekeeper, sits at one end of the kitchen table polishing the silver, while Betty, the cook, is supervising two or three Kitchen-Maids, who are peeling mounds of potatoes, scouring oven trays. Briony stands holding her manuscript in her right hand. “I’ve finished my play!”

Grace smiles up at her from folding the napkins, “Well done, dear”.

“Have you seen Mummy?”

Graces gives a small sigh, trying to work a particular crease out of one of the silk dinner napkins “I expect she’ll be in the drawing room”. Betty looks up from behind Grace and gives Briony a hard stare before speaking in a thick german accent, “I hope you’re not going to be getting under our feet today, Miss Briony, we’ve got a dinner for ten to prepare”.  
But Briony is already on her way out of the room, not listening. She hurries back down the hall, reaches the drawing room door and is about to enter when she sees Erik Lensherr, an impressive looking young man of 24 in working clothes, outside an open door leading to the formal gardens. He’s putting on a pair of muddy  
gardening boots. He looks up at her and shoots her a polite smile.

“Hello pal. I hear you’re putting on a play.”

Briony scowls lightly, “Who told you?”

Erik laughs and finishes tying up his boots, standing to his full height, looking down at her “....Jungle drums”.

Briony’s scowl fades and she smiles, “Will you come and see it?”

“I’m not sure that would be quite...” Erik breaks off, quickly finds another tack and stands. “Why don’t you let me read it? You used to make me beautiful bound copies of all your stories.”

Briony frowns at that, “I still want you to come.”  
“We’ll see.”

Briony quickly hurries off back inside the house, looking for her mother, and enters the drawing room. Inside the morning news plays on the wireless. The drawing room is an enormous corner room looking out onto a terrace. Emily Tallis, Briony’s mother, a slightly faded woman with pale skin and raw nerves, finishes reading Briony’s  
manuscript. The radio has been turned off. Briony hovers above her, anxious and excited. Emily looks up and smiles warmly at Briony.

“Stupendous! It’s stupendous, darling! Your first play!”

Briony beams up at her, “Do you think Leon will like it?”

“Well of course he will. ‘The Trials of Arabella’ by Briony Tallis. How Magnificent.” Emily trails off, getting up to pour herself a glass of wine, regardless to the fact that it’s only 10 in the morning.

\---------  
It’s mid-day and the sun is already high and blazing down on the monumental facade of the Tallis house. Lying on one of the rolling lawns is Charles Xavier Tallis, Briony’s older brother. Charles, a handsome man of 23 is nothing but restless and is making a desultory attempt to read a fat edition of Richardson’s Clarissa. He turns back a page to re-read something, then sighs, rolls on to his back and shuts his eyes against the sun. Briony is lying a few feet away.

Briony looks over at Charles, squinting against the sun’s powerful rays, “C?”

Charles does’t glance over at her, his eyes still shut and his arms resting behind his head, “Yes.”

“What do you think it would feel like to be someone else?”

Charles smiles lightly at that, showing a perfect row of white teeth. “Cooler I should hope. It’s way too hot out here”.  
Briony is less than impressed with Charles’ answer, frowning and sitting up, looking down at her older brother.  
“I’m worried about the play, C.”  
Charles sighs and rubs his eyes, sitting up and reluctantly facing his sister.  
“I’m sure it’s a masterpiece, Briony.”  
Briony looked away, across the lawn, “But we only have the afternoon to rehearse. What if the twins can’t act?”

Charles gave another light laugh, running a hand through his short, styled black hair  
You have to be nice to them. Think how you’d feel if your mother had run off with Mr. What’s-His-Name who reads the news on the wireless.”

Briony’s solemn look faded and she laughed, “Perhaps I should have written Leon a story. If you write a story, you only have to say the word ‘castle’ and you can see the towers and the woods and the village below... But in a play it’s... it all depends on other  
people.”  
Charles was already not listening anymore, laying back on the ground and resuming his earlier position, his eyes closed again. “Mm.”

Briony rolls over, and catches sight of Erik in the distance pushing a wheelbarrow up to a flower bed and parking it.  
“....C?”  
Charles groans, opening his eyes “Yes, Briony.”

“Why don’t you talk to Erik any more?”  
Charles swallows, his stomach knotting at the sound of Erik’s name.  
“I do. We just move in different circles, that’s all.”

Down by the flower bed, Erik glances across at Charles and Briony before going back to focusing on planting of a row of cuttings from the greenhouse. He wipes the sweat off his forehead and begins to dig with a trowel.  
\----------------

Rehearsals are taking place in a now disused room on the top floor, the former nursery, occupying the front corner of the house. Briony has wedged herself into an old high chair and looks down at her red-headed cousins: Lola Quincey, 15, and her  
twin 9 year-old brothers, Pierrot and Jackson. They’re all clutching handwritten copies of Briony’s play, looking down at it with reluctance. Jackson was the first to complain.

“Do we have to do a play?”

Next was Pierrot, following in his brother’s footsteps, “Why do we have to?”

Briony sighed, looking at them, “It’s to celebrate my brother Leon’s visit.”

Pierrot and Jackson groaned and following in their twinly manner, both stated at the same time, “I hate plays.”

After rehearsing for what seems like forever, Briony reluctantly allows the twins to rush off to the swimming pool and she lays on the floor, looking up at the ceiling fanning herself with the script.  
Charles steps out of the way as the twins rush past him as he’s stepping into the drawing room, muttering “stupid children” under his breath and walking over to the window. He sees Erik leaning agains the side wall rolling himself a cigarette, and walks over to a cherry-wood table, where there’s an early 18th-century Meissen vase sitting. He drops the flowers he had picked from the garden earlier untidily into it and pulls out a crushed packet of cigarettes, which turns out to be empty. He glances back out of the window, picks up the vase, checks his reflection in the mirror and strides out towards the terrace.

He speaks a little sharply, starling Erik, “Can you do me one of your Bolshevik roll-ups?” he doesn’t stop walking and Erik follows him, making the cigarette as he heads across the lawn towards the fountain. Charles makes simple conversation.

“Beautiful day.”

“I suppose so. Too hot for me.”  
They move on in silence, Charles stomach was doing flips at the closeness of Erik’s presence.

“How are you enjoying your book, Charles?”

Charles gives a chuckle, “Not at all.”

Erik frowns, “It gets better.”

“I’d rather read Fielding any day. Much more... passionate.” Charles suddenly feels awkward and hastens to change the subject, mentally cursing himself. “....Leon’s coming down today, did you know?”

“Yes, I’d heard a rumor.”

“He’s bringing a friend with him. This Paul Marshall. The chocolate millionaire.”

Erik glanced at the flowers in Charles’ hand. “Are the flowers for him?”

“Why shouldn’t they be? Leon says he’s very charming.”

They reach the fountain and Charles puts the vase down on the top step leading up to it. Erik hands her the cigarette and lights it. There’s more than a hint of accusation in what Charles says next.  
“The Old Man telephoned last night. He says you’re planning to be a doctor.”

Erik nodded, looking at him, “I’m thinking about it, yes.”

“Another six years of student life?”

“How else do you become a doctor?”

“You could get a Fellowship now, couldn’t you? With your First.”

“But I don’t want to teach...” He breaks off, looks away for a moment; then turns back to Charles, his blue eyes large and strong. “I said I’d pay your father back.”

Charles face turns emotionless, staring at Erik “That’s not what I meant at all.” There’s an edge of real hostility in his voice. He puts his cigarette between his lips and bends to pick up the vase, preparing to dunk it in the fountain, having first taken out the  
flowers and laid them on the step. Erik immediately tries to take the vase from him, wanting to help.

“Let me do that.”

Charles shakes his head, “I’m all right, thanks.”

But Erik persists, reaching for the vase. “You take the flowers.”

“I’m all right!”

Erik gets hold of the vase, just as Charles turns away; and with the crisp sound of a dry twig snapping, two triangular sections of the rim of the vase detach themselves in his hands. In his shock, he lets them go; and they drop into the fountain and sink slowly, spiraling to the bottom, almost three feet down. Charles looks at him, horrified.

“You idiot! You realize this is probably the most valuable thing we own.”

Erik gives a laugh, “Not any more, it isn’t.” The hint of truculence in his voice serves to agitate Charles even more as he sets the vase down. Charles straightens up, aware that Erik has begun to unbutton his shirt, and takes a step towards him, then, confusedly, a step back. Erik, afraid he’s going to step on the vase, throws out a restraining hand, a gesture so abrupt as to seem peremptory.

“Careful!”  
Charles’ response is to unbuckle his belt and, in front of Erik’s transfixed gaze, to strip down to his underwear. Then he steps over the lip of the fountain and lowers himself into it. He gasps at the unexpectedly cold water, but doesn’t hesitate to plunge his face beneath the surface. Erik, watches, unable to look away, his expression a queasy  
mixture of fear and longing. Charles reaches down to the bottom of the basin and carefully retrieves the two triangular shards of porcelain.

Charles emerges from the water, his underwear sticking to his legs, leaving little to the imagination, and lays the two pieces of pottery down by the vase. With his back to Erik, he scrambles back into his clothes. Then he gathers up the pottery fragments and puts them in his trousers pocket, takes up the vase of flowers and marches back towards the house. Erik stands there, watching him go. Then he reaches out a hand  
and lays it on the surface of the water, as if to calm it.

\-------------------  
Later that day, a cream-colored Rolls-Royce makes its stately way up the drive. Charles’ room is heroically untidy. The bed is unmade, the floor is littered with papers, clothes, and open books, the ashtrays are overflowing and the dressing-table is a disaster  
area. Charles himself sits, reading, when he hears the sound of the approaching motor. He crosses to the window gingerly and in the distance she sees Erik striding across the lawns on his way down to the lodge, where he lives with his mother. The Rolls-Royce slows and stops alongside Erik and the passenger leans out to speak to him.  
Charles frowns in obvious annoyance.

Later that day once Leon and his friend had gotten settled in the house, Charles , Leon and Marshall all sit sunbathing on the dock around the swimming hole. Charles is wearing white swimshorts and nursing a glass of punch. Charles had drowned out the noise of Leon and Marshall’s conversation before hearing Leon turn his attention to him.  
“Guess who we met on the way in?”  
Charles spoke into his punch glass “Erik.”

Leon smiled, “I told him to join us tonight.”

Charles looked at him wide-eyed, “Leon! You didn’t!”

Leon laughs at Charles’ reaction, and turns to Marshall, “So Erik the Housekeeper’s son, whose father did a bunk twenty years ago, gets a scholarship to the local grammar and the Old Man puts him through Cambridge; goes up at the same time as Charles and for three years and Charles hardly speaks to him! He wouldn’t let  
him within a mile of his Roedean chums.”

Charles, obviously annoyed at the accusation, sighs “Anyone got a cigarette?”

Marshall produces a gold case, brings it over to Charles and lights the cigarette he’s taken.

Leon continues on, picking at his nailbeds “Don’t know what the hell he’s doing these days, messing about in flower beds...”

Charles is standing on the diving board now, “As a matter of fact he’s planning on  
doing a medical degree.”

“And the Old Man said yes to that?”

Charles pinched the bridge of his nose, the cigarette hanging from his lips. “Look, I think you ought to go down to the lodge and ask him not to come.”  
Leon was looking at him now. “Why? Has something happened between you?”

“Oh, for God’s sake.” Charles dove into the pool, careless of the fact that the cigarette was still hanging from his lips.

\-------------

Later that same day, Erik sits at his typewriter, pensive. His tiny room is stuffed full of books; open on his desk is a copy of Grays Anatomy. He reads back what he’s just written.  
“Dear Charles, I thought I should write  
to apologize for my clumsy and  
inconsiderate behavior...”

He sighs, pulls the paper out of the typewriter, crumples it up and throws it in the waste-paper basket, where it joins other rejected drafts. There is music playing on Erik’s gramophone, strong brass filling the room. He leans back, wrenching the paper out of the typewriter, again, crumpling it and throwing it in the waste-paper basket. Erik moves over to the gramophone, stands a moment listening to the climax of the duet, picks up the arm and moves the needle back to replay the high note. He paces his small room. He feeds another sheet of paper into the typewriter, stubs out his cigarette, pulls the sheet out of the typewriter and starts again. Decisively, he begins to type. As he types, the words appear on the paper:

“In my dreams I kiss your cock, your sweet wet cock.  
In my thoughts I make love to you all day long. Erik.”

 

Erik sits back with a small gasp and laughs; he’s surprised himself. Then he pulls the page out of the typewriter, sets it down on Gray’s Anatomy, pushes the typewriter aside and reaches for some notepaper and a fountain pen. After a pause for reflection, he unscrews the pen and starts writing.  
He writes:

“Dear Charles, you’d be forgiven for thinking me  
mad-the way I acted this afternoon.The truth is, I feel rather lightheaded and foolish in your presence, C, and I don’t think I can blame the  
heat. Will you forgive me? Erik.”

\-------------  
Erik, rushing now because he wasted so much time writing, does up the front of his white button down shirt and at the same time finds an envelope, folds his letter, looks for his cigarette case, puts the letter in the envelope and seals it. He puts his black jacket on, tests his lighter three times and leaves the room. Erik leaves the bungalow, impeccable in his evening dress, the envelope in his hand and a spring in his step; he looks for all the world like a young man with a glorious future. He walks down the drive towards the Tallis house, his letter still in his hand. He comes to a monumental bridge that crosses a small stream. Below he sees a figure at the water’s edge,  
slashing at nettles with a hazel switch.  
“Briony? Is that you?”  
Briony turns, obviously startled and straightens her hair.

“Are you all right?”  
Briony nods, her face flushing.

 

“Do you think you could do me a favor?”  
Briony scrambles up the slope to join Erik, now looking straight at him, taking in his handsome features.

“Could you run ahead and give this to C? I’d feel a bit of a fool handing it over myself.”

Briony nods, taking the envelope from him. “All right.” She turns and runs off without  
another word and Erik watches her go, starting to roll himself a cigarette. Leaving the drive to take a short cut across the grass, running all the way, suddenly Erik gasps, as if punched in the solar plexus, and lets drop the makings of the cigarette.  
“Briony.”  
He realizes only now that he put the wrong letter into the envelope, something in his memory flashing back to a vision of the handwritten letter still laying on top of his typewriter. But Briony is out of earshot, running across the gardens, clutching the envelope. Erik, panicked now, cups his hands around his mouth and yells  
at the top of his voice:

“BRIONY!”  
\-------------------------

Briony runs into the hall and stands for a moment, alone. Then, impulsively, she rips open the letter, stuffs the envelope into her pocket and reads. She gasps at the vulgarity of the letter and stands transfixed before quickly putting it back into the envelope and rushing to find Charles.  
\--------------

Charles and Leon, both holding gin-and-tonics, sit in a window seat overlooking the gardens. Both of them dressed to the nines in full tuxedos. Charles takes a sip of his drink, having been discussing Marshall with Leon. Leon’s face lights up as Briony bursts into the room; he goes into his Arthur Askey impersonation.

“Rummy, if it ain’t my little sis!”  
Briony thrusts the letter into Charles’ hand without a word and flings herself into Leon’s embrace.  
“I wrote a play, Leon. I wanted to do a play for you, The Trials of Arabella.”

Charles unfolds the letter and reads. He blushes hotly, looks up to make sure his shock has not been observed and bows his head to read it again.

Leon smiles down at Briony, “There’s still time, doesn’t have to be this evening.”

Briony frown, “No, it’s impossible!”

Charles is now looking at Briony, swallowing thickly, “Briony?”

Briony completely ignores Charles, pretending to hang on Leon’s every word.

Leon continues on, “Tell you what, I’m good at voices and you’re even better. We’ll read it out after dinner.”

Charles’ voice raises a little, “Briony, did you read this letter?”

Briony ignores Charles again and smiles up at Leon, “Yes, let’s, that’s a wonderful idea!”

Charles’ fist is clenched at his side, his head spinning, “Briony...” Before he could finish he’s interrupted by the sudden appearance of Marshall, who’s carrying a silver tray, on  
which stand five cocktail glasses containing a sludgy brown liquid. He has a faint scratch running down his right cheek. Not thinking anything of the scratch no one says anything. Briony tries to take advantage of this to slip out of the room; but Charles grabs hold of her arm and hisses at her.

“The envelope seal was broken.”  
Briony wriggles free and hurries out of the room.

\-----------------  
Erik approaches the towering bulk of the house, dragging his feet. He looks up at the lighted windows and comes to a halt outside the front door, not at all sure he can bring himself to proceed. Finally, he takes a deep breath and tugs at the bell-pull. When the door opens, it’s Charles, the folded letter in his hand.

Erik looks at Charles’ hand wide-eyed and then back up at him, “It was a mistake.”

“Briony read it.”  
Erik swallowed, his hands trembling, “Oh God. I’m so sorry. It was the wrong version.”

“Yes.”

 

Erik looked up at Charles with pleading eyes, “No one was ever meant to...”

“No.”

Charles turns away and moves briskly towards the library. Erik, after a second’s hesitation, follows him, almost stepping on a hair-clip that was laying on the floor.  
Erik waits in the doorway, until Charles has switched on the desk-lamp; then he closes the door behind him and advances tentatively into the room. Charles crosses almost the full width of the room, before turning to face him.

“What was in the version I was meant to read?”

Erik, fidgeting with his hands, looks up at him, “I don’t know, it was more formal, it was less...”  
“Anatomical?”

“Yes.”

Charles doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Erik begins to inch towards him as he begins to back gradually into a dark corner, until he’s up against the bookshelves. Charles begins to speak in a shaky voice,” It’s been there for weeks and then this morning by the fountain... I’ve never done anything like that before and I was so angry with you, and with myself. I thought if you went away to medical school, I’d be happy. I don’t know how I could have been so ignorant about myself. So stupid.” Tears well up in Charles’ eyes as Erik moves closer and closer to him.

“You do know what I’m talking about, don’t you? You knew before I did.” Charles bites his bottom lip, the tears now freely falling down his cheeks. Erik is looking at him deeply, his bow-tie slightly crooked.

“Why are you crying?”

“Don’t you know?”

 

Erik’s breath hitches in his throat, “Yes, I know exactly.”

He reaches out and draws Charles to him, until their faces are inches apart. He kisses him briefly and pulls back; then they look at each other and kiss again, this time a long, passionate and breathless kiss, that draws from Charles a falling, sighing sound. He pushes Charles back into the corner as Charles starts starts tearing at his shirt, pulling at his waistband. He buries his face in Charles neck, nipping at it with his teeth and pressing soft kisses down it and Charles tangles a hand in Erik’s hair, messing it up and drags his head up, biting Erik’s lower lip. He links his hands around Erik’s neck, his head back against the bookshelves, eyes closed and mouth slightly open as Erik fumbles with Charles’ waistband, he finally gets it open and slips a hand inside, feeling his raging hard-on. Charles gasps and lets his pants and undershorts fall to his ankles, he swallows, sweat beginning to form on his brow. He pulls one of his legs out of his pant leg and rests his foot on the lowest shelf, feeling Erik’s hand stroking his length as he feels Erik’s own erection straining against his thigh, both of their pants and undershorts at their ankles. Charles quickly pushes Erik’s jacket off his shoulders, moaning at the feeling of Erik’s heavy breathing on his neck. Erik hooks an arm around the underside of Charles’ leg thats resting on the shelf, lifting it slightly and pushes into him with a deep moan. Charles turns his head sharply, biting his lip hard, his eyes closed tightly. Erik stops moving, trembling at the pleasure, breathing heavily, Charles slowly turns his head and looks down into Erik’s eyes.

“Erik.” His voice was barely whisper.

“Charles.”

“I love you.”

“..I love you.”

Erik’s lips were parted, he didn’t blink, looking up into Charles’ deep blue eyes. Charles gasps as Erik starts moving again, crushing him against the creaking shelves. Erik takes Charles’ wrist and holds it back against the wall, both of them emitting soft moans as their bodies move against each other. Erik’s eyes were shut tight and his face was in Charles’ neck. At the sound of the door opening, Charles and Erik both freeze.

Charles gasps, whispering “Someone’s come in.”

Briony was standing by the door, she was shaking, tears welling in her eyes.

“C-Charles?”

Charles doesn’t answer. Erik steps back from him and begins adjusting his clothes, keeping his back to Briony. Charles pulls his pants back up and buttons them, fixing his hair, he steps out from behind Erik and pushes past Briony without a word. Briony watches him leave the room, at a loss, then turns back, startled, as she senses Erik turning towards her. She takes a step back, frightened; but he merely fumbles with his bow-tie and, staring coldly past her, leaves the room.


End file.
